FFXII: Random Bits 02
by Nashiil
Summary: After waking from a distrubing dream, Fran needs to get it off her chest. As it happens the only person available to lend an ear is Balthier, unfortunately the dream was about him...and rather embarrassing.
1. Chapter 1

Just as a warning, this fic is an experiment with Fran and Balthier's personalities. I apologize if chapter 1 is slow.

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FFXII: Random Bits 02

:Setting- Fran has had a very disturbing dream. Stuck aboard the Strahl, the only person available to tell it to is Balthier, unfortunately it's about him.:

CHAPTER 1

Balthier cast a sidelong glance at Fran as the viera took her seat in the cockpit. As a self-proclaimed ladies' man, the dashing young pirate had spent years studying body language of the female persuasion until he could interpret the most subtle of movements. During his partnership with Fran he had learned to read viera almost as well. Being much more reserved than hume females, body language was all he had to go on.

The sky pirate took in the slight backward tilt of his partner's ears, the stiffness of her spine, and the intense interest in the controls which caused her nose to twitch. Something was bothering her. She was less kindly disposed towards him, refused to make eye contact and barely said two words together in reply to his questions, so it definitely had something to do with him. Fran was somewhat laconic to begin with, but now she was hardly speaking to him, so conversation had dropped to almost nil.

Having been raised in a wealthy family, Balthier had been extensively schooled in being socially interesting. This included all the usual courses, like singing, dancing, marksmanship, musical instruments, being up to date on current events, politics, and trivia. He had also been taught to be generally charming, witty, and an excellent conversationalist. This meant he could babble on about the exquisite workmanship of a table leg and make it sound like the most interesting thing in the world.

So far Fran had thwarted all of his attempts at conversation with cold glares and sound consuming silence. She was just about to give in when his nattering turned to past love conquests. The viera's ears tilted back at a severe angle and she fixed him with a glare so searing that it must have broiled his tongue in its own saliva, because he stuttered into silence. Balthier made a show of rising from his seat and stretching. With Fran's eyes burning the back of his neck, he left the cockpit the only way he knew how…at a nonchalant swagger. Sometimes it just didn't pay to make jokes.

Since prying the truth out of his partner would get him nowhere, except the corner of Intense Pain and Severely Maimed, Balthier resorted to the age old technik of Feign Complete Ignorance. When something is bothering a woman, she likes to try and make a man figure it out by dropping subtle clues. When asked outright, they reply 'Oh, its nothing' and heave a sigh. Men are supposed to know that 'nothing' is definitely 'something' and should be apparent.

Men are more direct and will tell you exactly what is bothering them. They don't need to talk about it, but they have figured out that women do…in great detail, but they can't just ask them outright. In order to cut out all the sighing and frustration, now all a guy has to do is pretend that he is completely unaware that there is a problem. After a while the woman will crack under the pressure of self imposed silence and spill her guts about what's bothering her. All Balthier had to do was wait.

Of course, the hume added pressure by always _being_ there. Every time Fran turned around, her partner was there. He was usually performing some innocently routine task like sitting in the captain's chair, walking around, tidying up, or adjusting his cuffs. Fran tried her best to avoid the man, but on a small ship it was practically impossible. She made a full round of the ship and found herself back in the cockpit, pretending to monitor the controls. Moments later she heard her partner approaching.

The man was singing quietly to himself, which the viera found mildly annoying. It wasn't that he was bad at singing, on the contrary Balthier could sing quite beautifully. He had a pure voice, such that might be found in the choir of the most holy of shrines or temples. You just wouldn't find his choice of songs in a holy establishment of any kind.

Balthier sauntered into the cockpit and flowed bonelessly into his seat. He said not a word, but continued singing a song that made Fran's ears burn. He turned to his partner, as if only just noticing that she was there and said,

"Oh, is my singing _bothering_ you? No? Well, if it does, you only need _say_ so."

Fran gave him a stony look.

"What?" He replied, " I wouldn't want you to be _troubled_ by it."

One of Fran's ears drooped sideways. Ah, she was annoyed with him.

"Come now Fran, you're obviously troubled by something and a leading man never leaves a woman in distress."

The viera considered her companion for a moment in silence, eyes boring into him. It always made him uneasy because she kept her thoughts to herself. At the moment she was considering the best course of action. She probably would have to tell him about it. Considering that it was one of those awkward dreams of a romantic nature she was certain that there would be consequences, mostly involving smirking, comments, and inflated ego.

Fran couldn't decide which would be worse, the comments or that haughty smirk. She hated the way he assumed that he was the Occuria's gift to the female population and that all of them _should_ have similar dreams about him. Then again, maybe having to hear "So, did you dream about me again last night?" every morning was a close second. Oh why did he have to be the only other living creature on the ship?

Fran would have gladly told her odd dream to Penelo or possibly even Vaan, but no. By some cruel twist of fate (because the Occuria get bored to an need some entertainment) the only available person was Balthier. Her ponderings were interrupted as her partner chose that moment to take the choice away from her.

"What's the matter? Did you have a risqué dream about me?"

Fran went rigid in the thundering silence that followed. Balthier's eyes darted towards his partner.

"Hit the mark have I? Well, well, well, imagine that. It had to be well beyond risqué then."

The viera fixed her smoldering red eyes on him.

"Let's get serious now." She snapped, which upon later reflection, had been a poor choice of words. The man arched an eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh, so you want to get serious do you?"

The dashing young pirate abruptly fell silent as Fran rose with a disgusted snort and stalked out. He winced and mentally extracted his foot from his mouth. _Oh blast_. Perhaps he had taken things a bit too far.

_Curse his sarcastic tongue! _Fran fumed silently as she paced her room. _Of all the humes on this planet how did I wind up with the most intolerable, vexing, self-serving, arrogant-!_

"Fran?" Balthier knocked tentatively on the door. When she gave no answer, her sensitive ears picked up the sounds of the man settling against the wall to wait. When he spoke again, the viera was surprised by a sudden apology, only because it was Balthier doing the apologizing, it was rather verbose.

"Fran, I apologize. Being the lowly wretch that I am, I wholly deserve your scorn for my lack of sensitivity. It was a horrible way for the leading man to comport himself and I know there is little I can do to redeem myself."

Fran rolled her eyes. She had already prepared a very unflattering retort which compared him to Al Cid, but it looked like she wouldn't get the chance to use it.

"And yet," Balthier continued, "I humbly beg you, upon my knees," A soft scrape outside the door indicated that he had, in fact, gone down on his knees, " to find it in your heart to forgive me."

Embarrassed that he could spout such nonsense so confidently, Fran opened the door. She crossed her arms as the young pirate knelt on the floor doing his very best to look contrite.

"humph." Fran snorted, "Al Cid would have at least had a flower to offer."

There! His shoulders had stiffened at the jibe and a slight frown settled on his face. The rabbit-eared woman found it very satisfying.

"Please," The hume replied smoothly, "You know I don't believe in flamboyant displays. Senseless rubbish. A true gentleman doesn't go 'round spewing cheap flattery and -"

"Do you want to talk to me or not?"

Balthier cleared his throat as he rose from his knees and sketched his partner a bow. "Fran, I would be happy to be a friendly, attentive, and most importantly silent ear for you-."

Fran groaned inwardly. What had he been saying about not believing in flamboyant displays and cheap flattery? An ear drooped sideways. The sky pirate quickly shut his mouth and stepped aside to let her pass as she headed back to the cockpit.

Balthier took a seat and twisted to give her his full attention. He usually avoided prolonged eye contact with her, just in case she took offense or thought he was being hostile. After all most animals viewed direct eye contact as a threat, not that she was an animal…it was just a precaution.

Fran suddenly decided that she didn't like having his undivided attention and had the suspicion that he was doing it on purpose. For a moment she wished for a distraction. Anything would do. Abrupt engine failure, a sudden mountain, spontaneous enemy attacks; but since it was Balthier it would have to be a woman suddenly flying by the window. Seeing as how that was highly unlikely while they were in flight, the viera decided to bite the bullet.

Fran took a deep breath and began.

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	2. Chapter 2

Here is the final chapter to FFXII RB:02. Beware of cameos by other FF characters. I wonder if this would be considered a cross-over? I hope you get the puns....

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FFXII: Random Bits 02

:Setting- Fran has had a very disturbing dream. Stuck aboard the Strahl, the only person available to tell it to is Balthier, unfortunately it's about him.:

:Location - The Strahl- Fran is describing her dream.:

CHAPTER 2

It was the most beautiful day Fran had ever seen. The sun was beaming like a supernova, and the birds were singing merrily in every tree. How they all knew to sing the same song was a harmonic miracle of nature.

The Royal Palace of Rabbinate's Hall looked as if it had been decorated by the type of person whose skills lay in lobbing as many rolls of bath tissue as they could in five seconds and running away before the porch light came on. Either that, or a five year old girl armed with rainbow colored clip-on hair extensions had been put in charge. Streamers in eye achingly bright colors hung from every window, spire, post, column, and lintel. It was overflowing with bushels of flowers, and flocks of doves. There was barely room for the throngs of guests. People clogged the place, standing where they could find room, and fighting for the limited cover provided by the huge bouquets of flowers in order to avoid the doves (who not only looked smart in their little top hats and coat tails, but had excellent aim).

Someone had rolled out a long white carpet down the middle of the Hall, and placed a small, very old hume at the end. It had to have been a male because only males were allowed to become priests. And he was certainly just very, very old because as far as Fran knew, the undead weren't allowed to be religious officials. His sole purpose seemed to be to keep the other end of the carpet from rolling back up. It looked like the place was all decked out for a wedding. But there was no sign of the bride and groom.

An unsettling feeling stole over Fran. Something wasn't right. The little Imp of Doubt did its jig in the back of her mind. The viera looked at Balthier, who was standing beside her at the head of the carpet. He gave her a cheeky wink. She looked down at herself to find that she was wearing an incredibly beautiful white gown, and holding a wad of flowers. Fran looked around and ticked off a mental check list: Flowers, guests, (very old) priest, white doves, gifts, dress…man… Sweet Tree Trunks, it was _her_ wedding!

"We were getting married? How interesting!" Balthier exclaimed from the pilot's seat. Fran steeled herself for the inevitable saucy comments. This took some doing, considering that Balthier had a habit of dropping comments that sounded innocent enough, until out of a macabre fascination, you probed the statement further. Therefore, the young viera pirate was taken aback by what her partner said next.

"Was it expensive and grand?" the sky pirate inquired in an offhanded way as if he were commenting on the state of his cuffs, which he was at the moment, finding to be profoundly interesting. Fran's sensitive ears picked out the hidden note of worry lurking in his tone. She was dumbstruck. Was he actually so vain that he would worry about the state of something that had never taken place?

"Well? Was it?" Balthier asked, unabashed.

Fran gave him a long, steady stare, seriously beginning to worry about his mental health. She had just described the biggest bank-breaking wedding in the history of Ivalice, but apparently Balthier's idea of 'grand' was much, much bigger. She sighed in a put-upon way and said, "It appeared as if there had been a violent collision involving a flower shop, a jeweler's store, and possibly a flock of doves."

"And your dress? Was it the most beautiful and stunning dress that a horde of … acquired loot could buy?"

"Yes. Jewels, silk, ruffles, flowers, the whole shebang." Fran replied. "If anything," she continued when Balthier opened his mouth to speak again " _your _attire was even more elaborate than mine. You looked quiet dashing in your detailed vest, and your blouse was so stiff with embroidery that it could have stood on its own."

The sunny smile that had crouched on the hume's face at the tendered compliment, was suddenly gone. Having dropped from his face like a sign that suddenly lost its last nail.

Staring straight ahead, and frowning at the sky through the cockpit windscreen, Balthier said "Now, I have mentioned before that it's _not _a blouse."

"Do you want to hear the rest or not?" Fran said, not wanting to hear a lecture about the structural differences between a shirt and a blouse. Especially considering that since Balthier would be explaining, it would contain witty and cutting remarks tailored to leave the spool of Fran's patience hanging by a thread, or leave her in stitches. And the gods knew Fran was in no mood for tailor talk today.

Sensing that pursuit of the current thread of conversation would ultimately end with clipped words and a kick aimed with needle-point accuracy, Balthier decide to leave his pride in the scrap bag for now and button his lip. "My apologies. Continue, please."

…Fran smiled at her groom through her veil. Balthier was beaming like a Flare, resplendent in his detailed vest and blou…shirt. He was also wearing every piece of jewelry he owned. Fran was surprised that his ear lobes and hands were holding up so well under the strain.

The tune of the classic 'Wedding March' began, only to dwindle into a wheeze as a hapless dove became lodged momentarily in one of the pipes of the gigantic organ (flown in all the way from Archades for a tawdry sum of 250000gil. A small price to pay for good music). Luckily, the organ player was able to pound the keys hard enough so that the obstruction could be expelled. The poor creature came free with the sound of a blocked nostril being cleared and shot across the hall where it collided with a small flock of its fellows, causing a brief rain of feathers.

A hush fell on the assembly as the music started up again. Since there were no official lyrics for the tune, the guests were left to mentally make up their own. These often included the classics like 'fair fat and wide', 'skinny as a broom', and 'old toilet flusher'. Some versions included helpful suggestions like 'open the window to let out the stink'.

The couple started down the aisle, preceded by a pair of Judges who had obviously put a lot of effort into dressing up for the occasion. Each had meticulously buffed and oiled their armor to a mirror finish (Fran knew this because Balthier had used one of them as such so he could do a last minute hair check before the music started).

Between the Judges and the bride and groom came a small girl (to whom earlier it had been explained that she would not be charged with littering) scattering handfuls of flower petals.

Hume custom dictated that the bride be given away at the wedding, but Fran had adamantly refused to acknowledge this custom on the grounds that she was her own woman and not a piece of furniture. In the end, Balthier had relented, not wanting to end up limping down the aisle. So, arm in arm, the bride and groom journeyed down the aisle.

Fran glowed in her immaculate gown, illuminated by a ray of light from one of the many windows. Everything was perfect until a shadow darkened the hall, cutting off Fran's personal spotlight. Looking out the window Fran noticed that a large cluster of Clouds had drifted in, blocking out the sun. They hovered there, looking gloomy with their dark clothing and expressions of permanent angst. The sky darkened further as a Squall appeared on the horizon. For a moment, it looked like it was heading their way, but then it caught sight of Fran's tempestuous expression, thought better of it, and stormed off.

Awkward silence descended as the Clouds and the wedding party regarded each other mutely. Finally, Balthier addressed the gloomy intruders, somewhat peevishly "Do you mind? I'm trying to marry the most beautiful creature in all of Ivalice. Go hover somewhere else!"

"Don't be rude." Fran chided.

"I'm not. Besides, I can't be rude. And do you know why?" Balthier asked.

"Why?" Fran asked in spite of her better judgment. "Because," her future husband replied in a tone that suggested that he had been waiting an eternity for the opportunity to make the following pun " That's Rude over there." he said, pointing to a well-dressed, dark-skinned bald man wearing sunglasses.

From the depths of the crowd someone shouted "Lame!". It sounded like Vaan.

One of the Clouds scratched his blond spikes apologetically and said "Sorry. We'll be out of the way as soon as a good breeze comes along." Minutes passed in silence as everyone waited expectantly. Nothing happened. The sky remained stubbornly devoid of any kind of wind activity.

"Maybe, if you could generate some wind?" a Cloud suggested helpfully. There was a sound like a balloon rapidly deflating from the assembly. It was followed by a ghastly reek that dopplered through the crowd. Leaving concentric rings of gagging and choking guests.

"Oh for goodness sake!" Balthier snapped, taking action. Not wanting to miss his chance to marry Fran because of weather anomalies, the sky pirate put his mind to work. A number of solutions to the problem presented themselves for his consideration. Since this was a dream none of them were practical, or even physically possible.

Balthier narrowed his choices down to the following two possibilities. 1) get everyone to simply blow the Clouds out of the way, and 2) climb to the top of a very tall ladder and use Aeroga to blow the Clouds away. These two ideas were very carefully compared. While the first would require less effort (with so many pairs of available lungs just standing around), any encouraging chants that would result would surely be embarrassingly out of place at a wedding. Balthier had no desire to have the highlight of his wedding to have been the bit where everyone was chanting "Blow, blow, blow!" He called for a ladder.

With the distractions on their way the wedding resumed. Fran and Balthier decided to do away with the stately walk down the aisle. Balthier helped hold up the hem of Fran's gown as they both ran for it, pelting down the length of the carpet before there were anymore interruptions. Once at the alter, Fran was not a bit surprised to discover that the priest was none other than the infamous writer, Robert Heftlance.

…"_The_ Robert Heftlance?" Balthier asked, sitting bolt upright in his seat. "Do you have any idea how famous he is?" Unfortunately Fran did. The man was all her partner talked about some years earlier.

Every world has its famous historic individuals. People so filled with talent and inspiration that their works are never surpassed and amaze each new generation. Ivalice had a few of its own. One was not so much famous, as infamous. A noble in the Archadean court, Robert Heftlance was so inspired by previous writers' works that he became determined to create the next wave of classics and earn himself immortality. He had the name after all. So he couldn't shake a spear, but hefting a lance was just as good.

Unfortunately Mr. Heftlance could only be described as a literary dyslexic. His tragedies tended to be comic and his comedies were often tragic. His poems read like a story and his stories were poetic, while his satires definitely lacked sarcasm. He became well known quite quickly and was often commissioned for funerals…to liven things up a bit.

…"It was a rather somber ceremony." Fran said, "I now understand why the newlyweds run out of the church."

"Oh no," Balthier quipped, "They run out of the church to get to the-"

Fran's ears tipped back to lie flat against her skull.

"Reception..b..because everyone loves cake." he finished, after a quick edit.

The reception was as fancy as the wedding itself. There was an enormous cake in the middle of a stout table. Fran kept waiting for someone to leap out of it wearing nothing much aside from some icing.

"Did we feed each other handfuls of cake? You know, like we did at that get together with our old friends at Sandsea?" Balthier asked.

"Yes," Fran replied. "Only without the violence." She grinned, as she watched the man stare out the window in thoughtful silence, and said,

"At least until Basch and Vaan threw you into the cake. It quite ruined you fancy clothes." A mild cloud of gloom settled over Balthier's features and he opened his mouth to speak.

"It was a chocolate cake and no, the stains never washed out."

Once the reception was done, the happy couple was taken away on a chocobo-drawn carriage to the honeymoon suite.

Fran stopped speaking as Balthier's face split into the widest grin of pure smugness that she had ever seen. "We had a honeymoon, did we?" he said in a pleased tone.

"I do not recall. That portion of the dream was all a blur."

"I'll bet it was!"

"I thought you were going to listen quietly." Fran snapped. The above mentioned part of her nightmare had been a blur, but the blurriness had more to do with that specific quality of all dreams than with the activities Balthier was alluding to.

"If you must know, we had seven children." she added, attempting to distract her partner from the current subject.

"Seven?! My word, we must have…" his statement dwindled into silence in the face of the heated glare of warning from Fran. "I'm sure they were all quite attractive children, considering who their parents were." he mumbled, attempting to cool her temper.

The viera took pity on her companion and replied, "We had two sets of twin boys, and one set of twin girls. The boys were Jrge, Tejk, Rejl, and Brjn. The girls were Wren and Krjt. All of them looked like viera, so they all looked like me."

"Well, they must have been gorgeous then."

After a moment's silence, Fran replied, "They were." Flattered, despite herself.

Balthier brightened and gave her a crooked grin.

"However," Fran continued, "the girls were more like you in their mannerisms. And you spoiled them rotten. They were the oldest of the children, and had you wrapped around their little fingers. They were clever, lying little sneaks, and I do believe they had your bothersome little 'hobby' as well." Balthier winced slightly at the jab concerning his dating habits.

"I beg your pardon, but I would never allow my little girls to go out at night and… wait a moment," Balthier said, going from indignant to slightly perplexed. "I thought you said we had seven children, but you only named six."

"Oh, yes, I forgot." Fran said with a smile that bordered on downright malicious.

"The littlest one. He was your favorite and looked just like you, aside from his ears. His name was Ffamran, I believe."

The sky pirate's face twisted as if he'd bitten into something sour. "_Ffamran!?_" he spat in distaste "Who in Ivalice named him _that_?"

"I did," Fran replied, " Because I knew you'd hate it. His middle name was Cidolfus."

Balthier scowled.

"And for some reason you had taken to wearing white hose and puffy pants and occasionally wore these ridiculous tiny specatcles. You also started muttering to the potted plants…"

"I would never!"

Balthier abruptly spun the captain's chair around, putting his back to Fran. He hunched down in the chair, lower lip stuck out in a gentlemanly pout (which meant that it wasn't quite touching the ground. He had his pride as a leading man after all). Fran could hear a low key, disgruntled mumbling, but she couldn't make it out. The hume had been around her long enough to learn how to mumble to where she couldn't hear him.

Much relieved now that she had had the chance to tell someone about it, Fran decided that it wasn't as terrible as it had seemed.

"Come now, it wasn't that bad."

After a few minutes of sizzling silence, the chair shifted and Balthier's voice muttered from over the head rest. "No. You were right. That dream was horrible, disturbing, and as of this moment we shall _never_ mention it again!

End.

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I apologize for the lame Shakespeare refs. Feel free to make up your own lyrics to the Wedding March.


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